Friday, September 19, 2014

personal ghosts

she asks me
if my house is haunted
and i think,
no,
my house is not haunted
but i shrug
i guess,
i say
you could say that

and i pretend
i'm not looking sideways
at the way her breasts
are perfect
and her shirt is thin
and maybe my sunglasses
reflect her innocent amazement
back into her wide open face
and protect my reputation
like i have one to protect
but probably
i am as transparent
as the ghosts that drift around my bed

did they come with the house
she wants to know
and i shake my head
no, i say
they are personal ghosts

i like the way that sounds
coming out of my mouth
'personal ghosts'
it sounds
like a girl with more tattoos than sense

who drinks soco when she's drunk
and bourbon out of the bottle before
a girl whose eyeroll
clears a larger personal bubble
than brundhilda's ring of fire
and who only dates
married men

they came with me,
i say,
not with the house
and i buy her a pack of cigarettes
and leave it at that

and she thinks i am dangerous
and interesting
like the knife in my purse
and the ghosts follow us home
and laugh when she doesn't notice

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